


It's Easy to Remember

by gregszandles (JeffersonStarship)



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble, One Shot, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23249041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeffersonStarship/pseuds/gregszandles
Summary: Written while I was supposed to be working on my other story. Oops! Dust bowl-era Nick and Greg. One shot *for now*
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	It's Easy to Remember

A shout woke him. The raucous laughter that followed kept him awake. The freaking college kids that just moved in next door…Greg groaned and sat up, flinging his legs wearily over the side of the bed. He was going to have to go knock on their door again. It was difficult for Greg since he worked at night and slept during the day, but those kids reminded him of the Energizer Bunny.

The _clop_ as Greg’s feet touched the ground caught his attention. He hadn’t slept with shoes on. The candle flickering in a corner also struck him as off. Greg didn’t burn candles unless he had a ‘friend’ over, and the last time he’d had a ‘friend’ over was a week ago.

He slowly raised himself to a stand. Greg’s head was killing him. Did he drink this morning? No, after a fourteen-hour shift he showered and immediately passed out in his bed. Approaching the candle, he met his own brown eyes in the small, old-fashioned mirror hanging above it.

This was _not_ his bedroom.

His attention was drawn to his shirt collar, and he looked down at himself.

These were _not_ his clothes.

_Well, shit._

Greg ran his hands over the worn, off-white short-sleeved button up. The lighting was dim but the yellow staining in the pits of the shirt was obvious. Oh, now he could _smell_ himself. He’d showered only a few hours ago…right? His pant legs were also weathered and the knees torn.

Another burst of laughter startled him, and only then did he become aware of the piano music. This was an odd dream. But just in case it _wasn’t_ a dream, Greg debated what he should do in a situation like this. How could one calculate good decisions in a completely random scenario? Why couldn’t everything be like science, chemistry? One right answer, always an explanation even if that explanation hasn’t been discovered yet.

_Alright, think._

Greg looked back to the bed, noticed the jacket and belt tossed over the footboard. The pockets of the jacket were empty, and he pulled it on. It fit perfectly. The belt was heavy—only then did he realize the occupied holster attached to it. Greg glanced quickly around the room, convinced someone was setting him up.

Another shout, glass shattering, more laughter, and the piano’s volume rose to compete with the rest of the ruckus. The floorboards quivered beneath him with each note.

His heart skipped a beat when there was a banging at the door followed by a loud, familiar southern drawl. “Time’s up! This room’s by the hour. Let another man have his turn!”

Greg swiftly fastened the holster around his waist. It too fit perfectly, and the piece was hidden beneath the jacket. He crossed to the door and pulled it open.

There stood Nick, swaying, a busty brunette on his arm and an unfamiliar hallway under him. Nick was donning an old-timey penguin suit and a Homburg-style felt cap. The woman…well, she was clearly wearing some type of corset. A costume party, then?

“Oh, thank god Nick. I feel like I’m going insane. Where are we? Why don’t I remember any of this?”

Nick’s eyes narrowed before he unhooked his arm from the brunette’s. “Get lost.”

She glared briefly at Greg before bustling away, her frilly skirt swaying with the motion of bountiful hips.

Greg was still watching her go when he was grabbed by the collar and shoved against the doorframe. In shock at the sudden violence, he kept his mouth shut when Nick leaned closer to him, Greg’s collar still bunched in his fist. “No one calls me by that name. Who are you?”

“Are you serious?” Greg stumbled over his words. If this was a prank, it was elaborate and cruel.

Nick shook him. “Who are you??”

“It’s Greg! Just…Greg.”

Finally, Nick let go of him and backed up. “Short for Gregory? Have we met?”

“I thought so, but I guess not,” Greg sighed.

“You look like you need some Irish whiskey, my friend,” Nick’s features softened and he clapped Greg’s shoulder. “New batch, off the ship last week.” He guided Greg down the hallway and to the top of a set of stairs, where he could now see a crowded bar on the lower level.

It looked like he had stepped back in time. Greg glanced at Nick. He supposed he would play along—what else could he do?


End file.
